Taking the sky
by Hellinbrand
Summary: Pre-BDM. 'Serenity' crashes on a law-abiding moon. The crew is forced to take honest work to pay for the repairs. Of course, nothing ever goes smooth where they're concerned... Please R
1. Chapter 1

_Serenity _lurched to port. Mal staggered slightly, but kept his balance. Wash was grappling with the ship's wheel, veins bulging from his forearms. From the aft they could hear the tinkle of bullets on _Serenity_'s hull. Jayne's head appeared round the cockpit door:

"What in the gorram hell is goin' on?!"

"We're under attack!" Mal replied.

"Well can't we outrun 'em?"

"Not a chance," said Zoe, from the co-pilot's seat.

"It's a _Mantis­_-class gun ship," she continued, pointing to a display screen on the console in front of her. It showed a long, thin ship with two large pods fixed to spindly 'arms' that extended from her prow. Each pod was mounted with an engine at the rear, and twin assault cannons at the front.

"_Tzao gao!_" Mal cursed as _Serenity _lurched again. More bullets bounced from the hull.

"Couldn't we try and talk them down?" Wash suggested, "You never know, it could a case of mistaken identity(!)"

"Who do we know could afford a _Mantis_?" Mal wondered.

"McShane?" suggested Zoe.

"This far out?"

"How 'bout Olyphant?"

"What'd we ever do to him?"

"You do still owe him that drink," Jayne pointed out. Mal ignored him and, crossing the cockpit, activated the communicator on the console beside Wash.

"Y'know, there're easier ways of gettin' folk's attention than shootin' at them," he began, but was quickly cut off by a voice at the other end:

"Malcom Reynolds you _ching-wah tsao duh liou mahng_! Don't think you can try and sweet-talk your way outta this! This time, I'm gonna gettcha and I'm gonna make it stick! I'm gonna…"

"Rembrandt!" said Mal and Zoe, in unison.

"I thought you dropped him down his own mineshaft," said Wash.

"Musta crawled out," said Mal, with a shrug, "You how it is with cockroaches."

Everyone in the cockpit staggered as _Serenity _gave her most violent shake yet. Now Kaylee's voice could be heard on the intercomm.

"Cap'n? What's goin' on?"

Mal reached for the transmitter hanging from the ceiling.

"It's alright, Kaylee" he said, "Just standby. We may need some of that mechanic's magic pretty soon. The rest of you, hold on to something."

"I take it you've got a plan, then?" said Wash, sweat beading his forehead as he fought to keep _Serenity _under his control.

"How far are we from Persephone?" Mal asked Zoe.

"About four thousand clicks."

"Too far," Mal muttered.

"Sir," said Zoe, reading from the console in front of her, "there's a small moon not five hundred to starboard. It's called Asphodel"

"Never heard of it. Wash, hang a right and gun straight for it," Mal ordered.

"Kaylee, give me everythin' you got," said Wash into the intercomm.

_Serenity's _gentle hum quickly rose, growing to a dull roar as she sprang forwards, glowing energy trailing from her exhaust. Rembrandt's _Mantis _gave chase, running close behind her.

The green-brown mass of the moon Asphodel loomed large in the cockpit window.

"You see that cloud there," Mal said, pointing to a greyish blur above the moon's northern hemisphere, "Head for it. No fancy stuff, just fly straight."

Wash nodded and pushed the wheel as far forward as it would go.

"Sir?" said Zoe.

"Junk yard," Mal explained, "Thought maybe we could lose 'em in there."

"That gun ship's a damn sight nimbler than us," said Jayne grimly.

"She's also twice the size, and not half as compact," Mal retorted, "Trust me, it'll work."

"Gee, where've I heard thatbefore(?)" said Jayne.

The orbital junkyard was much closer now. It was like an elephant's graveyard: a place where old ships came to die. Although it was more difficult to guard against scavengers, orbital junkyards did not have to worry about rust or erosion.

_Serenity _hurtled past the guard posts, the _Mantis _just behind her. Immediately, the junkyard was surrounded by a string of red lights. They had only a few minutes before the 'guard dogs' (automated drones mounted with magnetic grapplers) were released.

"OK, Wash," said Mal, gripping the doorframe tightly, "Time for some of that fancy stuff I pay you for."

Wash didn't reply. Eyes fixed on the cockpit window, he heaved _Serenity _to the left, nearly tipping her on her side. She slipped through a gap between two ancient barges. The _Mantis _didn't even try to copy her and simply hopped over the top.

So began the game of high-speed cat-and-mouse. Wash was pushing _Serenity _to her very limits. Over, under, round and one time _through _the junk (this particular manoeuvre caused Mal to swear loudly and order Wash never to try anything like that again), but the _Mantis _was always one step behind them.

Suddenly, the radar screen began to flash red. Wash was too busy piloting to read it, so Mal leapt across the cockpit. Three red dots could be seen converging on _Serenity _from three different directions.

"_Wuh de tyen, ah! _Wash, it's the dogs!" cried Mal.

"Kaylee!" shouted Wash, "You think your baby could handle a good old fashioned barrel roll?"

"Oh… OK," was Kaylee's nervous reply.

"Hang on everybody," Wash yelled.

Mal quickly returned to the doorway, hands firm on the posts. They could see one of the 'dogs' now in the top left hand corner of the window: it was little more than a grappler with an engine strapped to the back, but it was fast and closing on them every second. Wash did not try to evade them, though. He kept _Serenity _flying dead straight, with the _Mantis _and the three 'dogs' gaining ground on every side.

"Wash…" said Mal nervously.

"Hold on, captain," said Wash.

The 'dogs' were right on top of them now. Mal could even see the power crackling across the grappler's big, flat head.

Suddenly, without any warning, Wash threw the ship hard over, spinning her right round. The two 'dogs' closing in from the side missed her, and crashed straight into one another. Now only two dots remained on the radar.

The _Mantis _had also noticed the 'dog' at her rear, and was making a valiant effort to outrun it. Her exhausts were running white hot, but to no avail. In ten seconds the grappler was firm against her stern. The _Mantis _began to fire wildly into space, spinning round and round, as the 'dog' sucked the energy from her circuits. Mal heard a few shots pinging from _Serenity's _hull, but she did not shake too badly.

"Nice work," said Mal, clapping Wash on the shoulder. Wash was about to reply when a light on the pilot's console flared red. Warning sirens blared.

"_Chou ma niao_! Why does nothingever go smooth?" Mal groaned, "What's wrong now?"

"It's the fuel!" said Wash, fingers dancing across the console in front of him, "We're low, _real _low."

"How?! We were full up three days ago!"

"I don't know."

"Can we make it to Persephone?"

"Not a chance"

"Well, do we have enough to make atmo'?"

"Maybe," said Wash, pale faced.

_Serenity _passed out through the far side of the junkyard. She was not far from Asphodel's upper atmosphere. Once again, Mal reached for the intercom:

"This is your captain speaking. If you would all like to hold on to something, we will shortly be landing on or, quite possibly, all over Asphodel."

The warning sirens became more urgent. _Serenity _was shaking again as she burned through the upper layer of the moon's atmosphere. Traces of fire streaked across the cockpit window. The sound was terrible: it was as if every nut and bolt in the ship were screaming. Then the ground appeared, moving very quickly towards them.

"Are we flying or falling?" Mal shouted over the roar of the ship.

"Interesting question!" was Wash's only reply.

They were going almost headfirst now. Mal caught brief glimpses of a wide river, rice paddy fields and mountains.

"Kaylee! Hit the landing thrusters, _now_!" Wash shouted into the intercomm.

"This far up? They'll burn out!" said Mal.

"It's our only chance!"

The two jets on either side of _Serenity _twisted downwards. The ship span round and round, like a sycamore seed caught in a gust of wind. The view from the cockpit alternated rapidly between sky and land. Then it was all land, and it was very close.

_Serenity_ hopped as she landed, gouging huge chunks out of the earth as she went: once, twice and then silence.

Very gingerly, Mal picked himself up off the cockpit floor and reached for the intercomm.

"Everyone OK?" he asked tentatively. There were affirmative groans from Wash and Zoe, still firmly strapped to their seats.

It was Shepherd Book's voice that replied. He sounded concerned:

"Captain, I think you had better come down here."

In a few moments Mal was down in the cargo bay. The ramp was down. Jayne, Inara and Book were gazing anxiously through the opening. As Mal approached, he could see Kaylee kneeling in the mud just outside. Simon was standing over her, one hand on her shoulder. She was crying violently.

"What… what is it?" Mal asked, crossing over to her.

Kaylee tried to reply, but only sobs came out. She raised a trembling hand and pointed up. Three round bullet holes were punched in the bottom of the fuel tanks.

"They've killed her," sobbed Kaylee, "They've killed _Serenity_!"

* * *

_Take my love, take my land  
Take me where I cannot stand_  
_I don't care, I'm still free_  
_You can't take the sky from me_

_Take me out to the black  
Tell them I ain't comin' back_  
_Burn the land and boil the sea_  
_You can't take the sky from me_

_There's no place I can be  
Since I found Serenity_  
_But you can't take the sky from me..._

**Taking the sky **

Chapter 1 

Three days had passed, and the crew of _Serenity _was gathered in the dining area. The mood was sombre, and there was little conversation. Even Wash's quips were half-hearted.

Mal rose from his seat. His face was unusually grim.

"You all know our situation," he said, "so I won't take the trouble to elaborate. We're grounded, plain and simple. We ain't got the parts to get us back in the air, nor the wherewithal to acquire more."

Simon spoke, tentatively:

"You're sure there's no possibility…"

"Yes, gorram it!" Mal snapped, slamming his fist down on the table. Simon flinched, but said nothing. After taking a deep breath, Mal continued:

"Like I said, we don't have the parts to fix our fuel tanks. Rembrandt didn't just puncture the shell: his bullets played merry hell with the mechanism inside and that's what's going to cost us.

"There is one bright spot, though: there is a dealer on this rock who has the parts we need and is willing to sell them to us at a not-quite extortionate price."

"Which is still far more than we can pay," Zoe added.

"Right," said Mal, "and that brings us to the _really _bad news"

The crew perked up at this. Mal and Zoe had only lately returned from their shuttle trip to Oxbow, the largest settlement on Asphodel, and the crew was anxious to hear what they had discovered.

The journey had been a tedious necessity. _Serenity _had never visited Asphodel before, meaning that they had no local contacts to send work their way. They had avoided landing in the trackless wetlands that covered much of the moon by a combination of good luck and good piloting. However, the major urban centres were on the far side of the sphere. The hilly region they had crashed on was green with rice paddy fields, but sparsely populated.

Oxbow had proven depressingly respectable: a clean, civilised town built on the meticulous grid-pattern standard to all Alliance settlements. Everything was neat and ordered and law-abiding. Even the saloons were respectable: they had even seen an old woman drinking alone in one of them. Worst of all, there did not appear to be a single criminal bar in the whole town. Mal and Zoe had visited the seediest dives they could find (even these could have passed for classy on many worlds). They used the standard signals known to every crook in the 'verse: buy a certain drink, sit in a certain seat, give certain code words combined with certain gestures. None of these things had earned them more than a polite smile, followed by an uneasy glance.

"Upshot is," said Mal, "there's no work for us here."

There was silence in the dining area as the crew exchanged baffled looks.

"Whut," said Jayne, "you mean there's nothin'?!"

"Nothing," said Mal firmly, "least ways, if there is, nobody's hiring."

"Hell, if there ain't no jobs goin', I say we make our own," said Jayne, hand falling to his knife, "There's gotta be a decent-sized bank somewhere on this moon."

"Bank job requires a fast gettaway: something we don't have," said Mal flatly, "Even if we could pull it off without _Serenity,_ the law would be on us before we managed to get her in the air."

In fact, Mal was not so sure about this. Both he and Zoe had remarked on the lack of Alliance presence in Oxbow. There were the usual statues, posters and public buildings but the street corners were noticeably free of the jump-suited marshals common to every other Alliance town. Now he thought about it, Mal couldn't remember seeing anyform of law enforcement, not even a local sheriff. Not that this made Jayne's suggestion any more plausible; Mal didn't doubt that the fed's would be lurking somewhere on the moon.

"The time has come," Mal continued, "for us to take a drastic step. There's a town on a hill, other side of the next valley. Name of Easy. Zoe and I flew over her on the way back. It's quiet, respectable-looking and, according to local bulletin we picked up, there's work there."

Jayne's jaw dropped. Everyone else looked stunned.

"You mean… you're suggesting…?" Wash murmured. Mal took a deep breath. He had hoped he would never have to say this:

"We're goin' to have to take honest jobs."

Jayne shook his head.

"You mean like… robbin' somebody when their back _ain't _turned?"

"No, Jayne. I mean honest, ordinary, paid employment. Regular jobs, like regular folk."

Jayne looked bemused, even for him.

"But… I ain't never done no work like that before."

"I believe you," said Mal, unable to suppress a smile at Jayne's confusion, "I reckon it's been a long time since any of us have had what you might call 'honest' work, but there's no help for it. Besides, there are plenty of jobs for a big guy who ain't hard of thinking. And there are those among us who have skills that could be put to uses other than crime."

"Captain, how long are you planning to spend on these… jobs?" asked Simon, looking only a little less confused than Jayne.

"Well, I ain't done all the figurin' yet," said Mal, "but, takin' into account basic cost of living, rent for rooms in Easy and the like, we could be here for two months, at least."

Jayne was now positively pale at the suggestion. The rest of the crew seemed resigned. Simon was frowning:

"Do you think it would be safe for River to spend three months on an Alliance-friendly moon, living in an Alliance-friendly town?"

"No, I don't," Mal replied, "which is why you and your sister are goin' to play babysitter to _Serenity_."

"You mean we're going have to hide on this ship for _two months_, while the rest of you go out to work?" said Simon.

"I ain't sayin' it's an ideal arrangement," said Mal, "but it's the only one that's guaranteed safe."

Simon continued to frown but he nodded and did not raise any objections. Now Inara rose to speak.

"Mal, I don't understand," she said, "This isn't necessary. I have money. I can pay for the repairs. Just…"

"I don't recall askin' you," said Mal, avoiding her eye.

"Mal!" Kaylee snapped. Mal avoided meeting her eye too: the brief light of hope Inara's words had kindled there had been almost too powerful for him to resist.

"This is foolish," said Inara, "I can pay. I can get it to you in cash in less than a day."

"We don't want charity," said Mal firmly.

"What _we_?" Inara snapped, "Mal, I'm part of this crew…"

"No!" Mal snapped back, cutting across her, "No, you're not. You rent one of our shuttles. Your rent pays towards the upkeep of this ship. We don't need any more of your money."

Mal recognised a depressingly familiar fury building in Inara's eyes, but her demeanour was still calm.

"Mal," she said, a note of pleading in her voice now, "you know I wouldn't insult you. It would be a simple loan. Once you'd made the repairs you could get more work and pay me off in instalments. That's all it would be: a loan."

"I'd still be beholden to you," Mal said softly, "I ain't never doing that, not to no one."

Inara's whole body trembled at those words. Mal braced himself for a blow. A breath later and Inara had turned on her heel and swept out of the dining area. Several angry voices were raised from the crew:

"Mal, go after her!"

"Talk sense, Cap'n!"

"We need the money!"

"No!" Mal shouted, "No! I ain't discussin' this. We ain't takin' no handouts from nobody. We're doin' this off our own backs, like we've always done, got that?

"Now, you best all get packing," he said, suddenly weary, "we'll be leaving for Easy at sunup, day after tomorrow. We'll take the Mule. Our story is that we're migrant labourers lookin' for work. No one mentions _Serenity_, or what we're workin' for. We're just simple folk, looking to start a new life."

With a heavy sigh, Mal turned from the table and headed toward his bunk. The others exchanged resigned looks: they knew that they had no other choice.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

_One month later_

* * *

Mal yawned and stretched, banging his shins painfully on the side of his cot. Cursing under his breath, he hauled himself to his feet and staggered towards the door. Jayne, Wash and Book grumbled incoherently as searing dawn light fell on their faces through the open doorway.

Mal moved along the corridor, past the girls' room, and down the outside stair to the pump. He washed as best he could, then re-entered the lodge via the kitchen door. Kaylee was already up, brewing a pot of coffee. Mal murmured a morning greeting to her as he slumped at the bare table. He glanced over at the square of paper pinned to the cupboard door. It bore a running tally of the money taken from their weekly wage and set aside for the repairs. Mal had got into the habit of glancing at it every time he was in the kitchen. It didn't matter how many times he looked at it: it only changed on Saturday, and never by much.

One by one, the rest of the crew filtered down into the kitchen. Nobody talked much these days, restricting themselves to sullen greetings and simple requests. Even Kaylee looked glum: Mal knew how much she was missing _Serenity_, although she would never admit it to them.

Eight o'clock drew near, and everyone filed out through the front door of the lodge and into the street. The lodge was a large, plain wooden building on a street just off the main thoroughfare. It offered the cheapest and, almost certainly, the smallest rooms in Easy.

The thoroughfare was already busy, mainly with wagons bringing the rice crop up to the storehouses, ready for market day. People expressed cheery 'good mornings' as they opened up shop. A few people tipped their hats to Shepherd Book, although in a purely formal way. The townsfolk were too polite to say anything but they maintained a mild distrust of _Serenity_'s crew, both because of their sullen attitude and mysterious past.

It had not been difficult acquiring rooms, or finding jobs. Easy was the centre of a thriving farming community and there were several new businesses looking for employees. The crew's cover story of being migrant workers had been accepted easily enough and they had settled in within the week. Every Sunday, while Shepherd Book led an open-air service on the outskirts of the town, two other members of the crew would return to _Serenity_ to check on Simon and River and, more importantly, to stow their earnings somewhere safe. The ship had crashed in a valley some miles from the outlying rice farms. There was no fear of _Serenity_ being discovered: none of the locals would have any reason to visit that valley.

About halfway along the thoroughfare, Mal and Wash peeled off from the group. Crossing the boardwalk, they entered the Bamboo Garden: their place of employment. The Bamboo Garden was a teahouse-cum-restaurant, owned by a Mrs. Hu, an ancient woman with no teeth and all the talents of a first-rate slave driver. Half-blind and two-thirds mad, she spent her working day sitting at the front desk taking her customers' money and screeching at the staff. Her one saving grace was her son, Kang, who was able to combine basic protein supplements with the local rice crop into the most amazing food. Wash worked under him as assistant chef, chopping and peeling and washing in the sweltering heat of the kitchen. Mal was not so lucky: his job was to wait on tables, under the eye and authority of the venomous Mrs. Hu.

"You're late!" she snarled as they pushed open the swing-doors into the restaurant.

"And a good morning to you too, Mrs. Hu!" said Wash brightly, before slipping through the door to the kitchen as fast as he could, leaving Mal to face the full force of her bile.

"I don't know why I keep you _gao yang jong duh goo yang _around, I'm sure I don't'…" she muttered.

Mal ignored her as he hung up his coat, slipped his apron over his head and began the day's work by taking chairs off tables. It was always the same routine: take the chairs down, set the tables, serve food from nine until three, then half an hour for lunch, then serving again until ten, then put the chairs up, sweep up and back to the lodge for half eleven. It was the same routine, Monday to Saturday, for a whole month. Every morning, it seemed a little bit harder to wake up. Seeing the same sky from the same window every day; meeting the same people as you did the same job: Mal had never imagined that it could be so hard. For the first time in a long time, Mal was starting to believe in purgatory.

Still, he kept on reminding himself, it could be worse: he could be Zoe. Zoe had been turned down for the first few jobs she had applied for: worker at the storehouse, bouncer, nightwatch woman. Easy was a very old fashioned town and as such there were only a few jobs open to a married woman. Possessing only basic education, Zoe had been forced to take the position of cleaner in the mayor's house. Mal had laughed along with the others when she came back with the news but it had quickly ceased to be a joke: Zoe hated the position even more than Mal hated Mrs. Hu. For a woman used to the feel of a carbine in her hands scrubbing floors was humiliating. Mal had heard Wash make a crack about a maid's outfit one night; the next time he had seen Wash he was sitting at the kitchen table with a slab of cold meat over one eye.

All three of them would have gladly quit their jobs at the first opportunity but, even more gallingly, they were the three highest earners on the crew. Jayne possessed no skills that weren't strictly criminal and so had been forced to settle for the lowest paid job on offer: delivery boy for a grocer. Although his basic wage barely covered his rent at the lodge, he had proven adept at acquiring tips from the householders he delivered to. Mal did not find it difficult to work out why: no housewife was likely to refuse a handful spare change with Jayne looming in the doorway.

Kaylee was the only member of the crew who seemed really suited to their new life: she hired herself out as a general handywoman, fixing anything and everything mechanical that came her way. She had even travelled out to some of the nearer farms to look at tractors and harvesting equipment. However, while the work might pay well, it was inconsistent and some days she was unable to contribute anything to the repair fund.

Like Jayne, Shepherd Book seemed to have few skills for general work, so he had had to make do with menial jobs around the town, chopping firewood for a few coins and the like. It had been suggested that the Shepherd donate the collection from his Sunday services to the repair fund, but that had been firmly refused. Jayne had tried to help himself to the contents of the collection plate when he thought the Shepherd's back was turned; a neat judo throw had put paid to that idea. The memory of Jayne's incredulous face at being laid out by a preacher still made Mal smile.

"What are you smiling at?!" Mrs Hu yelled, "Get back to work! Save your smilin' for the payin' customers!"

Mal bit back a retort and concentrated on setting out the last of the cutlery. The phrase 'paying customers' conjured up memories of Inara: the day after their fight, she had taken her shuttle to the far side of the moon, no doubt to screen some 'paying customers' of her own. The others had not mentioned Inara in his presence, but he could feel their resentment. The knowledge that he could end this whole farcical episode with one call did nothing but gall Mal. He knew he had been unfair to her but this knowledge simply made him more determined to earn the money on his own terms. Sullen faced again, he finished laying out the cutlery and stood by to serve the first of the day's customers.

* * *

A crash of metal on metal startled Simon out of a pleasant doze.

"River!" he shouted, leaping up from the sofa and racing towards the cargo bay.

A month spent confined inside _Serenity _was taking its toll on his already unstable sister. They had been out in the black for longer than this but then the ship had been full of life and activity. She had had other people to interact with or simple chores to occupy her. Now _Serenity _was quiet and cold.

Simon had considered letting her walk in the countryside around the crash site. However, he had soon realised that River could not be trusted to stay within site of the ship and so, since he did not want to leave the ship unmanned, he and River had spent every day of the last month aboard _Serenity. _The monotony was relieved on Sunday when the crewmembers from town returned to drop off their earnings but their visits were always short, for fear of arousing too much suspicion in Easy.

Simon stepped onto the walkway hanging above the cargo bay. Looking down, he saw that River had emptied a toolbox full of nuts and screws all over the floor. Now she was sitting in the middle of the cargo bay, throwing handfuls of screws at the ramp.

"River! River, no!" Simon shouted, bounding down the steps two at a time. River did not look up at him until he actually grasped her wrist to prevent her throwing another handful.

"River! River, look at me!" he snapped, his voice a little harsher than he had intended. River winced and glanced up at him fearfully.

"River," he said, forcing himself to sound calm, "you can't play with these. These aren't toys. Look… at all this mess!"

"Holes of light in the darkness," she murmured, "Breaking through to the free air."

"Wha – just get out of here! Get out of here while I clean this all up!" Simon ordered, his temper rising again. River whimpered softly and sprang back from him. With a last, fearful glance she sprinted up the stairs.

"River… River!" Simon called after her, "River I'm…."

The door to the living quarters slammed shut behind her.

"Sorry" he finished lamely.

Simon sighed heavily as he ran a hand through his hair. River was not the only one with a touch of cabin fever: he too was feeling the strain of spending so much time aboard ship. He had never really appreciated how much the other crewmembers helped care for her. Even Jayne played a role; being a greater source of frustration to him than River. Looking after his sister alone was much tougher. That wasn't the only problem: he genuinely missed the crew, especially Kaylee.

Shaking his head to try and clear these self-pitying thoughts, he crouched down and began gathering the nuts and screws back into the box.

* * *

"You did what?!" said Zoe.

"Bought us some good ol' fashioned synthesised whisky-substitute," said Mal, banging the bottle down on the table.

"And this cost how much of your day's earnings…?" said Wash.

"Pretty much all of 'em," said Mal with a smile, taking three glasses from the drying rack and sitting down at the table.

It was after hours at the Bamboo Garden, and midnight was drawing near. Mrs Hu had come down with an attack of gout and Kang had been forced to carry her home, leaving Mal and Wash to lock up the premises. Zoe had called in on Wash on her way home, prompting Mal to produce his surprise buy of the day.

"My thinking is," said Mal, pouring out the first round, "that we're going to be stuck on this rock for a good long while yet, and I sure as hell ain't going another month without at least one night of total inebriation."

"I'll drink to that!" said Zoe, downing her drink in one.

"What about the others?" Wash asked, wrinkling his nose as he smelt the clear-brown liquid, "Shouldn't we include them in this… treat?"

"Well, Shepherd don't drink; Kaylee's out on a late call in the sticks and what Jayne don't know, don't hurt _us_," said Mal, following Zoe's lead and downing a glass-full in one gulp. Wash took a few polite sips but soon left, saying he needed an early night. He left Mal and Zoe to finish the bottle between them.

The night drew on and Mal and Zoe became more and more drunk. After a month of enforced politeness and good behaviour, they were soon raucously drunk, swapping bawdy stories at the tops of their voices.

They were not so drunk, however, that they did not hear the wagon pass by the restaurant window at around one o'clock in the morning. It was a cloudy night and there were no lamps on the thoroughfare but Mal and Zoe had developed good night vision during the war. They saw a covered wagon, all in black, drawn by two black horses trot past. It drew up at an inconspicuous house some way down the street. The cover at the back of the wagon stirred and the vague shape a large man, dressed all in black, climbed out. Along with the driver, also in black, he knocked at the door of the house. There was no response. After a few seconds pause, the men kicked the door in and entered. There were faint sounds of furniture being overturned and then the men emerged carrying the struggling figure of a man, dressed only in a nightshirt, between them.

Mal was out of the restaurant door before they had gone two paces. He swayed uneasily as he crossed the boardwalk, caught himself on one of the posts supporting the awning outside the restaurant, and zigzagged towards the wagon. Zoe followed just behind him, a little steadier on her feet but not by much.

"Hey!" Mal shouted, "Hey! What d'you do… What'd you think you're doin', huh?!"

"Get back inside," said one of the men holding the struggling figure.

"Wah?" said Mal, staggering to a halt in the middle of thoroughfare, "Wah? You tellin' me whatta do? Why I oughta… I oughta…!"

He made two unsuccessful attempts to go for his gun. Then he remembered that he had left it back at the lodge, where it had stayed for the past month. The man who had spoken to him leered. Leaving his companion to hold the man in the nightshirt, he advanced on Mal.

"Oh _kao_," Mal murmured.

His first thought was that the man was a lot bigger than he had looked from across the street. He was a head taller than Mal and wore a long dress-like _cheongsam_. He raised his arms, displaying the brass knuckles he wore on each fist.

Mal tried to dance back from the first punch, missed his footing and fell sprawling in the mud. Luckily for him, Zoe was right behind him and, crucially, could hold her liquor. The thug obviously hadn't spotted her, and fell to her first roundhouse to his jaw. At this, the thug's companion let go their struggling captive and waded in against Zoe. While she turned to deal with the newcomer, Mal was grappling with his fallen companion. Mal's aim was way off but in a night-time brawl no-one is very accurate, so he adopted the strategy of hitting anything and everything he could reach until the other guy stopped hitting back. Zoe, being both upright and fairly sober, had much more finesse. Doubling her opponent over with a knee to the groin, she grabbed his _cheongsam _and rammed him headfirst into the back of the wagon. His head crunched against the wood and he crumpled to the floor. A few moments later and Mal and Zoe had thrown the two thugs into the back of their own wagon and sent it cantering off down the thoroughfare.

Now Mal turned his attention to the man in the nightshirt. He had not moved an inch from where the thug had dropped him.

"Hey, are you alright?" Mal asked. The man, pale and wide eyed, glanced up at him. There was real fear in his eyes.

"It's OK… we're not gonna hurt you," said Mal softly.

"Err… sir?" said Zoe. Mal groaned: he recognised that tone of voice. Straightening up, he looked round. Shadowy figures had suddenly appeared on the boardwalks on both sides of the thoroughfare. Every one of them was armed.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Mal and Zoe were frog-marched down the thoroughfare to the town hall. More armed men were waiting for them there. The doors slammed close behind them, and Mal noted the very audible click of the lock fastening.

The lamps were activated, then immediately dimmed to the lowest possible setting. They were standing in the main hall, a wide room with a wooden floor. Chairs were stacked on both sides of the room and a platform had been built at the far end. It was very bare and cold. The men who had escorted them stepped back to the edge of the room, their weapons held in plain view. A door opened at the far end of the room, beside the platform. Mal and Zoe turned to watch the advancing figure of Matthias Gable, the mayor of Easy.

"That was a very noble thing you just did, Captain Reynolds," he said, crossing the hall to stand in front of them. He was flanked by two grim faced men, each cradling a rifle.

"And you can be sure that when I say noble," Gable continued, "I mean stupid. _Very _stupid."

"Wha? Why… what did you call me?" Mal mumbled, still struggling against the effects of the whisky-substitute. Gable took a disdainful sniff.

"Drunk as skunks. Havisham," he barked, "brew up some coffee for these two."

It was good coffee, made from real beans. Mal considered Gable as he drank away the last of his stupor. He had only seen the mayor in passing before now: a dour, grey-haired figure in black, always on the far side of the street. Closer to, he noted the carefully trimmed moustache and the hard, cagey stare. Be careful, his instincts warned him, this is not a man you can fool easily.

When they had finished drinking, Gable had his men bring up three chairs and they sat down to talk.

"I shall assume that you have no idea of the seriousness of what you just did in the thoroughfare," said Gable, staring intently at Mal and Zoe.

"We just saw a man who needed some help," Mal replied slowly; the details of the fight were somewhat blurred in his memory.

"That he did," Gable nodded, "but you may have brought much worse down on yourself, and the whole town.

"Tell me," Gable asked, "why do you think there are no lawmen on Asphodel?"

"Why…? 'Cause… 'cause there's no crime," said Mal, "Least, that's what people said when we asked them. Didn't seem wise to pry further."

"That's what they tell themselves," Gable said grimly, "I guess, to them, anything's better than admitting the truth. The real reason is, any man tries to enforce real law on this moon, he's dead within the week.

"No, the real law on this moon is the law of force and what's more the law of the protection racket. You see, all the criminals on this moon answer to one man: Du Yuesheng. He's the top man: controls all the gangs."

"What about the Alliance?" asked Zoe.

"Oh, Du isn't just some common crime lord," said Gable, shaking his head, "Story is that he worked his way up from nothing: son of a tinker, they say. He made a lot of powerful friends on the way to the top. Besides, he's got enough money to bribe the local feds to look the other way. There's no law on Asphodel: just Du.

"His system's simple," Gable continued, "First of the month, each householder pays a fee, on top of the regular Alliance taxes, and they get left alone. You fail to pay up and… well, thanks to you two, it _didn't_ happen to Mr. Johnson."

"And people let this carry on?" said Zoe.

"What choice do we have?" Gable sighed, "Even if we wanted to challenge him, he's got every gunslinger on this moon in his pocket. The Alliance won't help, so we suck it up, pay him the money and get on with our lives. Round these parts, we try to help out those that fall behind but in other places, they say there are whole towns standing empty."

"And what about _mister_," Mal sneered at the word, "Johnston? He just slipped through the net, did he?"

"Johnston's been dipping in and out of dope for months now," said Gable sternly, "We tried to get him off it but no one dared try too hard: Du has a monopoly on the dope trade, too. In the end, we voted to just let him go."

Mal lapsed back into angry silence.

"How come we didn't hear about all this before?" asked Zoe.

"Well, your protection money was factored into your rent: your landlady paid for all of you," Gable explained, "but mostly, people don't like to talk about it. Just smile and get on with your business and everyone can pretend that we're something more than serfs to a murdering _hwun dan_."

"And my guess is that our little stunt in the thoroughfare will have earned us the wrath of said murdering _hwun dan_," concluded Mal.

"Oh, not yet," said Gable, "You only beat on a couple of his heavies: most likely you'll get a visit from Magpie: he's Du's lieutenant in this province. If I were you, captain…"

"Hey, wait, wait, wait!" Mal held up his hands, "What's all this 'captain' _go-se_? I'm just a…"

"We know who you are, and what you are, captain" said Gable with a small smile "All of you. Why else do you think you've escaped Magpie's attention all these weeks? Du keeps strict control on migration; stops people moving on to escape the protection payments.

"The day after you arrived in town, we received a communicat from a very respectable lady. She explained your situation to us, and we agreed to cover for you if any of Magpie's boys asked us about you."

Mal flushed: he couldn't stop himself being grateful to Inara for her help but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"As I was saying," Gable continued, "If I were you, _captain_, I would expect trouble in the morning. If you're quick, you might just make it out of town before Magpie…"

"No," said Mal, cutting across Gable, "My ship's in the next valley: I'm not running."

"Well," said Gable, "as I said: if I were you, I'd expect trouble tomorrow morning.

"I say this purely in the spirit of disinterested advice, you understand," Gable said, standing up, "We hate Magpie plenty but my people won't lift a finger to help you when the time comes. We've got our families to think about. I hope you understand."

* * *

It was nine o'clock when Magpie rode into town. The thoroughfare cleared in a matter of seconds. People disappeared into doorways, wagons down side streets. He was riding a chopper: a type of hover-vehicle designed to resemble the legendary 'motorbikes' of Earth-That-Was. It was an old model but out on these provincial moons it represented a real extravagance. He was followed by three men on horseback, each one wearing a gun belt over their black _cheongsam_. 

Magpie pulled up and dismounted outside the town hall. Mal watched him from the cover of a support outside the Bamboo Garden. Magpie's hands and throat dripped with gold jewellery, which jangled in time with his spurs as he walked. He dressed like a city dandy, in black and white silks with a tall stovepipe hat. Reaching down, he drew a sawn-off shotgun from a holster on the bike. He wore his diamond-encrusted pistols openly.

"You all know why I'm here!" he shouted, in a surprisingly high voice.

"I ain't lookin' to cause a disturbance," Magpie continued, advancing slowly down the thoroughfare, shotgun held loose in one hand, "Just send out the two men I want, and we'll say no more about this."

Behind him, the three toughs dismounted and fanned out, covering Magpie's flanks and rear.

Mal considered his options. He was armed only with his pistol. Zoe had her carbine. She was stationed on the other side of the street. Jayne had only the pistol he had bought with him to Easy, and was sitting at a window in the saloon further up the thoroughfare. This was the sum total of his forces. Zoe had given Wash her derringer but he was working today (Mal had simply not shown up to the restaurant) and had been ordered to stay indoors, unless the shooting carried on longer than seemed healthy. Mal doubted that would happen, one way or another.

"There's no reason that this has to be difficult," Magpie continued, "but it will, if you don't give me what I want."

Mal took a deep breath and stepped out into the thoroughfare. For all that he was a portly man, Magpie was quick on the draw; his free hand was on his pistol the instant he spotted Mal.

"Who're you?" Magpie asked. Nobody had drawn, but every eye was now on Mal.

"The name's Malcolm Reynolds. I'm the man you're looking for."

"Where's your friend?" asked Magpie.

"Friend?"

"My men said there were two men attacked them."

"Must'a been mistaken'. It was _very _dark."

Magpie frowned, but he did not press the matter:

"Reynolds, huh? You ain't from around here."

"I'm new in town."

"Well, that changes things" said Magpie, a greasy smile shining through his dark beard, "Seeing as you're new around here, I'm inclined to be reasonable, like. How about you pay us what Johnston owed us, plus a little interest, and we'll say no more about it. Shall we say… eight hundred platinum?"

Mal felt his stomach give a jolt, although he kept his face mildly disinterested: eight hundred platinum was all the money they had earned in the past month, plus their initial savings.

"I think," he began, drawing the sentence out to buy time, "I am going to have to decline your very reasonable offer Mr. Magpie, sir."

Magpie's smile vanished.

"Well," he said, "that presents us with a problem."

Magpie's shotgun whipped up. Mal went for his gun. The pistol cracked, and Magpie fell. Zoe and Jayne burst onto the boardwalk, weapons raised. The three men in _cheongsams _froze, hands on their pistols.

Keeping his pistol on the nearest of Magpie's men, Mal crossed the thoroughfare to where Magpie lay. Still not lowering his arm, he turned the body over with his boot: Magpie was dead, a bullet wound straight through his heart. Raising his head, he addressed Magpie's men:

"Drop 'em."

Moving slowly, the three men undid their gun belts and dropped them in the mud.

"Good," said Mal, "Now go. We'll see he gets buried."

Still moving slowly, the three men backed towards their horses. As soon as they were mounted, they dug in their spurs and galloped away down the thoroughfare. Mal did not lower his pistol until the last of them had disappeared out the town gate.

* * *

Twenty minutes later and Mal and his crew were standing on the platform at one end of the town hall. The hall itself, so quiet and bare last night, was thronged with people. It was standing room only: Mal could even see some children peering through one of the windows. Everyone was babbling away excitedly, except for Mal and his crew, who just looked stunned. As soon as Magpie's men had vanished, the people had converged on the thoroughfare. The body had been borne away, and Mal and his crew shepherded up to the hall. 

The side door opened and Matthias Gable stepped onto the platform, wearing a broad brimmed hat and a delighted expression.

"Congratulations, my boy!" he said, wringing Mal's hand, "Congratulations! I must confess, I had my doubts about you, but _by_ _God _you proved me wrong!"

"Err… happy to help… Your Honour," said Mal.

"We have been waiting a long, _long _time for a man like you," Gable said, "A man with the skill, the determination and above all the courage to do what needed to be done."

"No, really… I was just…" Mal said, completely nonplussed by the whole situation.

"My boy," said Gable, thrusting his thumbs into his weskit pockets, "I would like to offer you the position of marshal of Easy."

Mal's jaw dropped. Behind him, he heard Zoe snort with laughter.

"Excuse me?" was all he could say.

"How'd you like to be our new sheriff?" said Gable, his face beaming. Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a tarnished silver badge.

"Whoa… wait a minute," said Mal, holding up his hands as if the mayor was holding a rattlesnake, "you folks got this all wrong. I didn't kill Magpie outta any sense of _justice_: I ain't lawman material."

"You're damn right you're not!" shouted a voice from the audience. Turning, Mal saw a red-faced youth, little older than Simon, shoulder his way to the front of the crowd. A crowd of other youths followed him. They were all dressed in the most sober fashion, and looked thoroughly outraged.

"This man is a gunslinger and a criminal!" shouted the red-faced youth, pointing an accusing finger at Mal, "We should run him out of town, before he causes any more trouble!"

"Is that how you show gratitude, Nathaniel Spokes?" Gable roared, "This man has just rid us of our greatest oppressor, and you _dare _to slander his name in front of this wholeassembly? Shame on you, I say, shame!"

Spokes glowered up at Gable, but he did not reply.

"Captain Reynolds," said Gable, "would do my fellow citizens and I the singular honour of accepting the office of sheriff?"

"No," said Mal bluntly. Spokes and his cohorts grinned.

Gable was no longer smiling.

"You mean to say, that you will abandon…"

"Look," said Mal, cutting across the mayor, "I don't know who you all seem to think I am. I'm not a lawman. I didn't come here to bring freedom, or justice to y'all: I came to earn some money, so that I could fix my ship and get off this crazy rock. What happened out there… just happened, is all. And besides, I couldn't help you, even if I wanted to: I'm just one man."

Now Shepherd Book spoke, loud enough for the whole hall to hear:

"Sometimes, captain, one man is all it takes."

Mal whipped round to glare at him. Book smiled a simple smile and said nothing.

"See," said Gable, "even your own crew agrees with us: you are the man we need."

"_Wuh duh ma huh tah duh fong kwong duh wai shung_!" Mal shouted, "Am I the only one _thinking_ in this room?! I can't go up against Du Yuesheng: he's got a whole moon at his back. I've got this town, a crew of eight and a ship that can't fly. Do you understand? It – can't – be – done."

"A whole moon, who are afraid of him and hate him," said Gable, "You take him down, his whole organisation would fragment in a matter of days. Then we could call in the Alliance, and they could take it from there."

"I'm sorry," Mal said firmly, "this isn't my fight."

He turned to leave the platform. The audience was in uproar at this point, some shouting for Mal to take the post, others, led by Spokes and his cohorts, cheering and catcalling. Despite the tumult, Gable's voice carried clear to Mal:

"How much will your repairs cost, captain?"

Mal paused. The noise from the audience subsided.

"About eighteen-hundred platinum," said Mal, cagily.

"That's another two month's work for you, isn't it?" said Gable.

"That's right," Mal said with a nod.

"What would you say if we, the town, were to pay you that sum, in return for taking office?"

Mal paused. He was tempted: two month's pay for one job, and then they'd be free again. But what a job… It couldn't be done; there were no two ways about it. Not impossible though, said an insistent little voice at the back of his mind. It could be done: if they had a plan, and everything went smooth, it could be done. Did he have the right to volunteer his crew, though?

He turned to look at them; he didn't even have to speak. Book looked insufferably smug. Kaylee was nervous. Jayne was clearly disgusted with the whole idea but, like Wash and Zoe, resigned. They could not return to their jobs, anyway: Du Yuesheng was bound to come after Mal sooner or later, whether he worked as a waiter or as a marshal.

Scowling like a bulldog, Mal turned and took the badge from Gable's outstretched hand.

When the cheering (or booing, depending on which side of the room you listened to) had subsided, Mal addressed the crowd:

"I still think you're all makin' a real big mistake but, since you don't seem to have left me any other option, I accept. Rest assured, Du Yuesheng will be sipping tea with his ancestors soon enough!"

To his surprise, this did not raise a cheer. Instead the crowd was muttering nervously. Now Nathaniel Spokes raised his voice again:

"See, Your Honour, I told you he was nothing but a common cut-throat!"

"What else have you hired me for?" Mal demanded "To write a strongly worded letter(?)"

"_He_ hired you to uphold the law," replied Spokes, pointing to Gable, "That means making an arrest, not just gunning him down like the bandit you are!"

"_Wuh de ma!" _shouted Mal, "Will you just listen yourself? Do you think Du's gonna just let me walk up to him and clap a pair of handcuffs on him?! I was right: this is insane…!"

"But I'm afraid he's right, son," said Gable, grimly, "You're our sheriff now. This has to be done by the book."

Mal opened his mouth to protest but Gable cut him off.

"You must at least _attempt _to arrest Yuesheng: that is the law."

"Alliance law," spat Mal.

"And the law of this moon," said Gable sternly.

"This is going to be done under the law, _sheriff,_" Gable said, "or not at all. Do you understand?"

Mal's fist closed around the sheriff's badge. More than anything he wanted the hurl that badge in Gable's insufferably straight-laced face but the thought of eighteen hundred platinum stayed his hand.

"Sir," said Zoe in his ear, "if we could find out what Du's plan is I think there might be a way to make this work."

"And how're we gonna do that?" Mal demanded, "To find that out, we'd need a spy. The only person I'd trust to send would be someone from the crew and I'll wager platinum to _go-se _that he'll know every one of us by this time tomorrow; someone in this room is bound to be on the take."

"Forgive me, captain," said Book, stepping forward, "but there is _one _person whom Du might still not know about."

* * *

The spy hole in the door slid open. 

"Password?" growled the doorman.

"Shanghai," came the reply.

The doorman slammed the cover back across the spy hole. With a grunt, he heaved the heavy steel door back. A burly messenger wearing a black _cheongsam _stood in the doorway.

"Got someone here: says he wants to talk to the boss," the messenger said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

The messenger stood aside to reveal an odd figure, half-tramp, half-cowboy: he wore an odd mismatch of frontier clothes, all a size too big for him. He reached up and raised the brim of his hat.

"I'm here to see Mr. Yuesheng," said Simon Tam.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The doorman spoke to the messenger, ignoring Simon:

"What the hell's this?"

Simon, knowing how crucial his first impression was going to be, squared his shoulders and barked at the doorman:

"Hey, you…" his mind ran through the list of curses that Mal had taught him the night before, "you… _jung chi duh go-se dway! _Look at me when you're talking to me!"

The doorman stared at Simon as if he were a docile animal who had just bitten him. Simon let the momentum carry him, thrusting the note he was carrying under the doorman's nose:

"I've got something important to tell your boss, _dong ma_? So you just give him this, alright!"

Simon did his best to imitate Jayne's baritone growl but, despite a two whole day's practice, he still sounded like a man with a painfully sore throat.

The doorman and the messenger exchanged a look. The doorman shrugged.

"Jus' a minute," he said, sliding the viewing hatch shut. Simon and the messenger waited in uncomfortable silence as the night fog coiled around their legs.

The door swung open.

"Alright, git," the doorman growled, standing back to let Simon inside. Simon was glad of the thick coat Mal had leant him; even with it, he was sure the doorman would notice how badly he was trembling.

"This way," the doorman said, pointing down a short corridor decorated with genuine dark wood panels. Simon advanced as confidently as he was able, horribly conscious of the doorman's gaze.

The door at the end of the corridor was opened by two men in footman's livery, although the effect was somewhat spoiled by the large handguns they wore openly at their hips. On the other side was a cloakroom, equipped with a crude gun-scan. Simon surrendered the pistol Jayne had given him, along with Mal's coat. Thankfully the scanner was such a crude model that it did not pick up the radio concealed in his boot; a device that Shepherd Book had been curiously adept at building.

Yet another footman appeared to escort Simon through the far door and into the main hall. Du Yuesheng's mansion was a large stone building surrounded by wide parkland, just outside Oxbow. It defences were formidable, including ray shielding, stun lasers and a whole regiment of hired guns. Had it not been for his escort, Simon would never have made it to the front door.

The hall was, like the rest of the building, decorated in what Du must have imagined a mansion on the Core looked like. The effect was surprisingly tasteful, if hopelessly behind current fashion: dark wood panelling, stone floors, marble statues, electric chandeliers. Du's thugs lurked in every alcove, fidgeting uncomfortably in their livery.

Simon's escort led him up the main stair and through the first floor corridors until they reached an ostentatious set of double doors.

"Wait here," the footman instructed. Slipping through the doors, he left Simon alone in the corridor.

As soon as the footman was out of sight, Simon dropped to one knee. He slipped the radio from its hidden compartment in the heel of his boot and activated it, all the while pretending to tie his shoelace.

"Captain? Mal?" he hissed, glancing fearfully up and down the corridor.

"This is Mal," came the reply, "Reading you clear, over."

"I'm inside the building," Simon said quickly, "I think they're about to take me to Du, over."

"Good work. Remember: act tough, and say as little as possible," said Mal, "Good luck, over."

Simon deactivated the radio and returned it to its hiding place. He had just stood up when the footman reappeared around the door.

"In here," the footman said curtly, holding the door open for him.

It took all of Simon's self-control to prevent his jaw dropping. He wasn't entirely sure how he had expected to meet Du Yuesheng but it certainly wasn't like this. Beyond the door was an old fashioned library, complete with a roaring fire and a polished cedar reading desk. Du was alone, sitting in a leather armchair with his feet up on an ottoman, a glass of brandy on the table beside him and a weighty leather-bound volume on his lap.

"Ah," he said, looking up and closing the volume, "come in, come in."

Simon had encountered a fair few criminals since boarding _Serenity_ but, if he had to pick him out of a line-up, he would have never guessed that Du Yuesheng was the most powerful one he had yet met. He was a tall man of Chinese descent, middle aged, with a shaven head and very thick black whiskers. When he spoke, he drawled like a plantation gentleman. He was even wearing a velvet dressing gown.

Simon stepped forward, trying to look both tough and subservient at the same time and settling somewhere around awkward.

"Would you like a drink, mister…?" Du said, gesturing to the decanter of brandy beside him.

"Maher, and no," said Simon, shaking his head and then, unsure whether his 'character' would say it or not, added a mumbled "thank you."

"So," said Du, not rising from his armchair, "you say that you're Magpie's cousin?"

"Yeah, that's right," said Simon, making sure to look Du in the eye.

"You're from the Shui Dao province?"

"Yeah."

"Can't say I recall your name being on any of my payrolls."

"No, you wouldn't," said Simon, "When Magpie ran off, someone needed to stay behind an' look after his ol' ma'. I'm just a farmer."

Du considered Simon for a long moment. With a great deal of effort, Simon managed to keep his breathing regular.

"An' now he's dead, you're looking to take revenge," said Du slowly.

"That's right," said Simon, unable to keep the relief from his face,

"At first, I was all set on killing the _hwun dan _myself," he continued, launching into the speech that he had rehearsed with Mal, "but I knew that you'd probably object to that, like, seeing as Magpie was your man. So I decided to come here and see whether we couldn't agree on some sort of arrangement."

He lapsed into silence, frightened that he had said too much: he was sure his accent had begun to slip towards the end. Du smiled:

"Always happy to accommodate family, Mr. Maher. Especially when we share a common purpose.

"As it happens, you have arrived just in time. I was planning to personally head a little expedition to Easy in the morning. Can't have the provincials getting too uppity can we?"  
Simon shook his head.

"Now, you understand, I have to assert my authority: if we don't make an example of 'Marshal' Reynolds, we'll just have another one take his place in a few months, and who knows where that'll end?"

"Don't' worry," Du held up a hand, "you'll get your revenge. I've got men in the hills round Easy as we speak: if he tries to cut out, we'll know about it. We're gonna hop across to Shui Dao by shuttle, then ride into town at noon. I'll call Reynolds out and order him to stand down or, so help me, I'll burn that whole town to the ground."

"What if he…" Simon began.

"Oh, he'll do it," said Du, "These heroic types are easy to play: too easy. And after he does, he's all yours. We agreed?"

"Sure," said Simon, sullenly.

"And now it's late," said Du, glancing at the clock on the library mantelpiece, "My servants will find you somewhere to bunk down 'til morning. Shuttle leaves at eight, got that?"

"Got it," said Simon, before adding a hasty "thanks."

"Don't mention it," said Du, smiling.

* * *

That morning Easy was deserted. Those who could went to stay with relatives out of town. Those who had nowhere to go hid in their cellars and locked the door behind them. Even the indomitable Mrs Hu had been persuaded not to open shop. 

Mal and his team (at Mal's insistence Mayor Gable had appointed the crew of _Serenity _as his deputies)had been at their posts since nine o'clock. Mal was sitting in the old sheriff's office. It was a small building, thick with dust; they had needed a crowbar to lever the boards from the doorway. Jayne, Zoe and a reluctant Wash, all armed to the teeth, were waiting by upstairs windows, overlooking the thoroughfare. Book was keeping a lookout at the town boundary for Du's approach. Kaylee was the only crewmember, apart from Simon, who was not in Easy: she was watching over River, back on _Serenity. _

Mal toyed with the sheriff's badge. He'd always assumed that any man wearing one was either too stupid to find better-paid work, or on the take. It didn't seem right that he should wear it. The events of the last few days felt like a dream.

"More like a nightmare," he murmured.

The plan was suicide, he reflected. It rested on Mal being able to get close enough to Du during the 'negotiations' to take him hostage, while Zoe and Jayne kept his men pinned down with fire from the upstairs windows. As a last resort, Simon was to break his cover and shoot Du in the back.

"Yep," Mal murmured, "suicide".

He looked up at the sound of running feet. Books' head appeared round the doorpost:

"Du's shuttle just touched down in the next valley. He's on his way."

"Thanks, Shepherd," said Mal, standing up. He was wearing his brown army coat; not for any sentimental reasons but because he didn't feel comfortable going into a fight without it. Reaching up, he carefully pinned the silver star to the lapel. He was wearing body armour, hidden under his shirt, but was armed only with his pistol and a pair of handcuffs: anything more threatening and he might lose the element of surprise.

"Good luck, captain," said Book, squeezing Mal's shoulder. Mal muttered a note of thanks as he moved past him to stand in the doorway.

It took about ten minutes for the cavalcade to ride into Easy. It was led by a quartet of horsemen: serious looking men in dark hats and carrying long rifles. Behind them came a large gentleman's carriage painted black and drawn by four beautiful black stallions. Two men sat either side of the driver and two more rode shotgun on the back: they too were heavily armed. Four more mounted riflemen brought up the rear.

The carriage pulled up in front of the town hall, some fifteen metres from the sheriff's office. The driver dismounted and opened the door of the carriage. Five more men in dark coats and hats got out. They were not openly armed but Mal was sure their neat jackets concealed some powerful weaponry. Behind them came Simon, his scruffy, mismatched clothes standing out amongst the sombre neatness of his companions. As his trench coat moved, Mal caught a glint of metal at Simon's hip: he was still armed. Last of all came Du Yuesheng himself, dressed in such dandified neatness that he would have made Simon's wardrobe look shabby. Du nodded and the horsemen dismounted. They spread out to take up positions of cover all along the thoroughfare and the boardwalk. Three stayed close behind Du himself, another three to guard the carriage. Simon had not moved.

Now Du reached into his jacket pocket, and raised something to his mouth. When he spoke, his amplified voice boomed through the whole thoroughfare:

"People of Easy, I hear that you have a new sheriff in town."

There was silence; nothing stirred.

"I know you can all hear me," continued Du, "so listen well. Nobody here wants violence. You know how it works: you pay up, I leave you alone. You defy me, and I will use force. You have defied my men. Do not defy me in person. Send out the sheriff."

Mal stepped out into the thoroughfare. Instantly, every one of Du's men had a weapon pointed at him.

"Right here," he said, advancing towards Du, hands held loose at his sides.

"I'm going to keep this simple for you, sheriff," said Du, not moving, "Give yourself up, right now. In return, I'll spare the town."

"No ruttin' way," said Mal. He couldn't believe how calm he was. A few minutes ago and his mind had been wracked with anxiety. Now the moment had come and everything was clear and simple and smooth. He had not felt like this in a long time.

Mal was now within thirty paces of Du. He was still being covered by over a dozen guns but they were all waiting for their boss's word.

"Looks like I'm going to have to be a little more persuasive," said Du. He seemed faintly amused by something.

Suddenly, the three men behind Du leapt on Simon. In a heartbeat he was disarmed and covered by three pistols.

"Bold," Du said to Mal, smiling broadly, "but foolish. I keep close tabs on all my men: Magpie killed his own mother fifteen years ago."

Mal froze, pale faced. He was still twenty paces from Du: even if he made a dash for it, he'd never reach Du alive. Jayne and Zoe could not help either: even if they shot two of the men holding Simon, the third would certainly kill him.

"Are you familiar with the traditions of Earth-That-Was, sheriff?" Du asked.

"Can't say that I am," said Mal, warily. He watched carefully as the two men sitting on the back of the carriage dropped down and opened the trunk. They produced a coat of thin wire mesh, which they carried towards Du. Meanwhile the three men covering Simon had stripped him of coat and shirt, leaving him naked from the waist up. While they were fastening the coat around Simon's torso Du continued to chat pleasantly to Mal, as if they were conversing at a high society ball:

"Our ancestors were inventive torturers, even with their primitive technology. This is one of their most ingenious: the _ling chi_, or 'lingering death'."

Mal heard Simon wince as they fastened the coat of wire mesh around his torso: it was so tight that it squeezed his flesh into tiny quivering lumps, each about the size of a fingertip. Du continued:

"It is also known as 'the death by a thousand cuts'. Properly performed, it can take days for a man to die."

Mal felt his stomach turn over as Du produced a razor from his jacket pocket. He handed it to one of his men. Simon gave a whimper of fear: Mal was amazed that the boy had not screamed out.

"Throw down your badge and your gun, sheriff," ordered Du.

Simon looked up at Mal. A cold shiver ran through Mal's body: he had not seen fear like that since the war. He had hoped he would never have to see its like again.

"I won't ask again, sheriff," said Du.

Moving as slowly as he dared, Mal reached down and undid his belt. With a sneer of disgust, he threw the belt at Du's feet, followed by the sheriff's badge. Du smiled.

"Kneel," he ordered, stepping over the belt and badge. Mal spat on Du's shoes, but he still obeyed him. He fixed his eyes on Du's, refusing to bow his head. Du reached into his jacket and drew a sleek, long-barrelled pistol.

"You see this?" Du spoke into the amplifier, "This is what comes of stepping out of line. There is no law on this moon; there is only me."

He rested the muzzle of the pistol on Mal's forehead. Mal braced himself, forcing back the tears that were welling up in his eyes.

Mal did not know exactly where the shot was fired from. All he knew was that it could not have been from any of his people, as they were all _in front_ of Du. The bullet passed through the back of Du's knee and out the other side, clipping Mal's arm as it did so. Du squealed like a piglet and crumpled to the floor. His pistol fell from his hand to lie in the mud of the thoroughfare.

For a second, Du's men froze, scanning every window for the sniper. This was all the time Zoe and Jayne needed. Two shots whizzed over Mal's head, and two of the men guarding Simon dropped. Simon had the presence of mind to roll under the carriage while the third man was trying to draw a bead on the mysterious gunmen. Some his companions remembered that their leader was down, and swivelled to target Mal.

Mal threw himself on top of Du, who was scrabbling for his pistol. The gunmen held their fire, giving Zoe and Jayne time to pick another two off. Du's men suddenly seemed to realise the danger that they were in. Those in the thoroughfare sprinted for the cover of the boardwalk, blazing at the upstairs windows as they went.

Du's fingers slipped on the handle of his pistol, which was slick with the mud of the thoroughfare. Mal's hand found Du's wrist and dragged it back, pummelling at Du's face with his spare fist. Du's free hand was at Mal's throat in an instant, squeezing with tremendous strength. Mal saw spots dance in front of his eyes and pulled back. Du's wrist slipped from his grasp. Du dived for the pistol, but now Mal's arm was around his throat. Mal drove his knee into Du's kidneys, as bullets crisscrossed above their heads.

Now Du had hold of the pistol. Mal dug his free hand into Du's collar bone. Du screamed. His whole body shuddered and the pistol slipped back into the mud. A stiff right hook from Mal rolled him aside. Mal seized the pistol. Jerking Du's left arm into a half-nelson, Mal shouted at him above the crackle of gunfire:

"Tell them to stand down! Tell them now!"

Du held the voice amplifier up to his mouth with his free hand:

"Lay down your arms! Do it, I say!"

Mal pressed the muzzle of the pistol up under Du's ribcage.

"Do it!" Du squealed into the amplifier, "Please, please don't kill me! Do as I say, gorram it!"

With obvious reluctance, Du's henchmen laid their weapons at their feet.

"Up," Mal hissed, wrestling Du to his feet. Keeping the pistol at Du's back, he let go the half-nelson and drew the handcuffs from his coat pocket.

"Du Yuesheng," he said, snapping the cuffs on his wrists, "by the authority vested in me by the townsfolk of Easy, the Union of Allied Planets and, most of all, the big damn gun I got pressed to your gut, you are hereby bound by law."

* * *

Kaylee's voice transmitted over the intercom, brighter than Mal had heard it in weeks: 

"Everything's ship-shape an' ready to go, Cap'n!"

"You done a good job, Kaylee," said Mal into the communicator, "Take five. Got a few things I wanna clear up."

"We're not going yet?" said Zoe, turning from helping Wash stow the mule safely.

"I'd've thought you'd have seen enough of this rock to last you a good long while," she said.

"Yeah," Mal murmured, not really listening to her. Without thinking, his hand strayed to his coat pocket. His fingers closed around the little silver star. No one in Easy had asked for it back, so he had kept it. Would I have been able to hand it back if they had asked, he wondered? Why was it so hard to put it down?

The question had been bothering him for the whole week. Du was in Alliance custody in Oxbow, waiting deportation to the Core where he would stand trial. His men were all rounded up or had gone into hiding. Mal didn't doubt that the federal marshals would have hunted them down within the month.

The townsfolk had honoured their bargain to the letter, and Kaylee and Wash had spent a merry week repairing _Serenity's _fuel tanks. Things were returning to normalor at least, Mal corrected himself, as normal as his life ever became. Everyone had moved back onboard, even Inara. She and Mal had not spoken but they did not need to: neither of them would admit to the other than they had been in the wrong. The mutual, unspoken decision had been taken not to talk about the incident, letting them both maintain the belief that they were right without trumpeting it in the other's face.

Mal's old life was returning. The flesh wound he had received stung when he moved his arm but, that apart, it would soon be as if the past month had never happened. So why did that bother him?

"Sir, what is it?" said Zoe, seeing the trouble written clear on Mal's face.

"Nothing," Mal said, then paused. He did know what was bothering him. He had tried to avoid admitting it, even to himself, but it was all too clear:

"It felt good," he said, slowly, "Y'know, being sheriff? _Really _good. It was like… the old days. In the army. It was like comin' alive again."

"Sir…?" said Zoe, nervously.

"Didn't you feel it too?" said Mal, "Like we had something worth fighting for again. Not just another job: something that _really _mattered."

"Sir, I don't like where this is going," said Zoe.

"No, just think about it. We could…"

Wash's voice cut across him:

"Mal, someone to see you."

Mal turned. Matthias Gable was standing at the foot of the ramp leading into the cargo bay. His sober black coat had been replaced by a faded brown trench coat.

"Can I help you, Your Honour?" said Mal, crossing the bay to speak to him.

"No, captain," said Gable, shaking his head sadly, "You've already done more for me than I can ever thank you for."

Now he was closer, Mal could see a lieutenant-colonel's insignia stitched on the sleeve of Gable's coat.

"Hey, I was just looking out for my crew," said Mal affecting a cynicism that, for once, he did not truly feel.

"No, not for Easy," said Gable, "I meant for me personally."

He held out his hand to Mal, as if he had only just met him.

"Lt. Colonel Matthias Gable, 14th division, Independent Army. As you see, we served on different sides of the 'verse. I was captured a year before Serenity Valley. I ended the war cooling my heels in a POW camp."

"Maybe that was for the best," said Mal quietly.

"I wouldn't know about that," Gable replied bitterly, "Prison saps the life out of a man. By the time I got out, I didn't recognise the man I had become. I decided to settle down, become respectable, raise a family: I broke every promise I'd ever made to myself when I was young. I even lied about my war record: pretended I'd never been a browncoat.

"That's why I wanted to thank you," said Gable, seizing Mal's hand again, "you reminded me of the man I used to be: the kind of man that'd stand up to men like Du Yuesheng, the kind of man who'd bend the rules a little in order to do what's right."

As he spoke, Gable pushed the hem of his coat back. He had a long pistol strapped to his thigh, a targeting scope fixed to the sight.

Mal opened his mouth to speak, but Gable raised a finger to silence him.

"Ah! What's done is done. Now I'm here to do _you_ a good turn: get off this moon, now."

Mal frowned.

"Spokes recognised your boy Simon from the newsfeed," said Gable grimly, "He called the marshals last night. If you go now, you can be out of the world before they even reach Easy."

"That _tah mah duh hwoon dahn_!" Mal growled.

"Don't be too hard on him, captain," said Gable, placing a fatherly hand on Mal's shoulder, "Spokes is from a younger generation. Alliance-educated, you know. He doesn't see the world in the same way as us old dinosaurs."

Mal gave a wry grin.

"Goodbye… sergeant," said Gable. Turning, he descended the ramp. Mal waited until he was out of sight before he spoke:

"Wash…"

"Already on it, captain," said Wash as he clattered up the stairs to the bridge.

Mal thumped the communicator:

"Kaylee, take us out of the world. As fast as you can, got it?"

"Err… sure thing, cap'n" she replied.

Mal deactivated the communicator and pressed the button to raise the ramp.

"Sir…?" Zoe began.

Mal glared at her and she fell silent. Mal thrust his hands angrily into his pockets. His fist brushed against the cold metal of the sheriff's badge. Holding it in his hand, Mal drew his arm back and hurled the star as hard as could over the lip of the rising ramp.

"Good riddance," he muttered.

**THE END**

* * *

_I hope you've enjoyed reading this story. At the risk of sounding like a weepy Hollywood starlet, I'd like to thank a couple of people: Joss Whedon for creating 'Firefly', the folks at browncoats dot com for providing me with a list of Chinese curses (for some reason this site won't let me write the address!), George MacDonald Fraser for introducing me to the horrifying _ling chi_ ('Flashman and the Dragon', if you're interested) and shinysavage, both for introducing me to 'Firefly' and encouraging me to write this fic._


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